The Sky Over Scotland
by Lindentree
Summary: It's been 8 years since Harry, Hermione, et al left Hogwarts. The main character is (in a way) Oliver Wood, but this looks into many lives. The disappearance of Albus Dumbledore, an odd young American witch, snoggage, mystery, and the sky over Scotland.
1. The Obligatory Author's Notes

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Well, here goes. This is my first fanfic, and I fully intend to enjoy the hell out of it. It's a bit of a tangle of people and ideas- I was bitten by a rabid plot bunny, and when I surrendered, it promptly took off in all weird directions. I call him Elmer. He sits in a corner of my brain and tells me what to type, so everything is Elmer's fault. *beats back Elmer with a stick*  
  
Anyway, I really don't know yet how many chapters this will be. Ask Elmer. I'm just the hands. I have rated this story PG-13 for (muaha) future chapters. Much thanks to Qai for plopping her trusty beta hat on her blond head for me *sends loff to the beta*. Yah. Enjoy! Read and review if you have something intelligent to say. Otherwise, get lost. :D  
  
Disclaimer: Harry, Hermione, Draco, Ginny, Oliver, Hogwarts, quidditch, blah blah, etc., etc., are all property of J.K. Rowling. Alas, they are not actually mine.. 


	2. The Blue Above

In the wide, cloudless summer sky above England, a small sparrow was winging its way through the clear air. The tiny bird went soaring over the countryside, then passed over the tall buildings of London, flying higher and farther until, finally, he coasted down to sit on a small, unadorned wooden windowsill. 

The room the sparrow viewed through the open window was Spartan, clean, white, and would have been utilitarian- if it hadn't been filled to bursting with flowers.  There were flowers in vases, flowers in jugs, flowers in baskets, and even a tiny rosebud floating in a tea saucer filled with water. 

In the room there sat three people: a tall, rather thin young man with startlingly green eyes and messy black hair, a woman with inquisitive, lovely features and a lot of frizzy brown hair, and a dazzlingly pretty woman with auburn hair and a smile that refused to let anyone not smile back. Everyone's attention was focused on a small bundle cradled in the frizzy-haired woman's arms.

"She's beautiful, Harry," Hermione said. "Nice work." She grinned at her best friend as she passed the small swaddled bundle over to him. "Although, I will never forgive you for not naming her after me. You know that, right?" 

Harry rolled his eyes. "You know, Mione, sometimes I curse that brilliant memory of yours," he told her. "Five years ago, you gave me a chocolate frog and told me that, in exchange, I had to name my first child after you. And you've hounded me about it ever since. Greedy witch, aren't there _any perks to being your best friend? Can't I just get you a candy bar and declare the debt paid? I mean, really...." He shook his head laughingly, to happy to be really upset. _

"Never." Hermione proclaimed grandly. "I'll even have one of my secretaries make a note of it just to be sure." 

She glanced at the auburn-haired woman lying in the bed and smiled at her. "Why did you marry this silly moron anyways, Katia?" she asked. "I don't know how you put up with him." 

Katia laughed. "I gave him a Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Bean, and told him that if it was chocolate, we were getting married. He got chocolate." 

Hermione snorted. "Well, it's as good a way to get engaged as any," she decided. "If rather unconventional and chancy. Though if 'twas me, I would have chosen something a bit more splashy…....say, strawberry lime vanilla ice cream with a dash of roasted cinnamon." 

"I adore chocolate," Katia said mildly. 

Hermione sighed. "We're all insane, discussing candy when there's a baby to be cooed over. Hand her over," she commanded, waggling her fingers at Harry.  

Harry mumbled "Yes, Madame Minister," and made a face at her, just as the baby started squalling. 

"Oh- she looks just like you, Harry!  Same squinchiness about the eyes. Perhaps it's a male trait- you know, Severus makes a face like that too, sometimes- when I tell him too much about 'boring ministry business'." 

"Making disparaging remarks about me, my dear?" a low voice behind her inquired. The newest occupant of the room was another tall, black-haired man- though he looked nothing like the other. "Comparing me to Potter, to add insult to injury. I thought you loved me." 

Hermione kissed her husband unrepentantly. 

'Lo, Snape," Harry said, walking towards him with the baby in his arms. 

Snape nudged the blanket off the tiny face. He looked at her for a moment, then looked up at Harry. "Good going, Potter." 

Harry nodded to acknowledge the compliment. Snape looked over at Katia, nodding slightly in her direction. "Everything go alright?" He inquired briefly. Katia just beamed. "I take it that's a yes," Snape said lazily. He shifted his gaze to his wife. "Ready to go?" 

"Yes- are you sure you don't want to come along, Harry?" "No- I'm going to stay here with Katia and Liliane." 

"You can go to the game if you'd like, Harry- Lily and I are probably just going to sleep all afternoon anyway. And you know how Oliver would love it if you came." Katia told him. 

"I'll stay and watch you sleep," Harry said stubbornly. 

Katia rolled her eyes. "Men. So overprotective." She looked at the couple standing by the door. "Give Oliver my best, will you? Tell him I'm sorry I couldn't be there." 

"Oh, I think he'll understand." Hermione said with a laugh. "One of those can't-stand-against-nature things. Can all be put down to biology, really." Katia nodded.  "We'll see you tomorrow," Hermione called over her shoulder as she and Severus walked away. 

The last thing Harry heard as they vanished down the corridor was Snape's voice saying, "Who knew such an annoying man as our Potter would end up with such a baby as that? It must be Katia's genes balancing it out," accompanied by Hermione's laughter. 

In the little room, Harry lay down next to his wife on the bed and leaned over the baby between them to kiss her. They bumped noses and grinned at each other. 

In the peaceful quiet, a voice from the little television in the corner of the room could be heard. _"…..the sky over __Scotland__ remains inexplicably black, threatening, and filled with constant thunder but no rain for the fifth week in a row. And in sports: In one hour, the Irish National Team and the recently crowned Quidditch World Champions, the English National Team, will begin their exhibition match at Maflley Pitch! WizardWorld will bring you full coverage. In other news, Hogwarts professor Katia Potter, wife of the famous auror Harry Potter, gave birth to a girl last night, at......" _

Harry smiled contentedly. 

On the windowsill, a small brown bird took off, cheeping off-key as it went gliding off into the boundless and unnaturally blue sky.


	3. Enter the Scotsman

Hermione leaned out the window of the sleek black Ferrari, breathing in the scent of a riotously blooming flower garden as she and Snape tooled down the country road. 

Three months ago, she had introduced a Ministry of Magic resolution that asked the wizarding world to be more accepting of Muggles. It had come after a rash of anti-Muggle violence and harassment that had, to her opinion, gone **quite far enough, thank you. **

The day the resolution passed the Advisory Council, Hermione had flown home in high triumph, declaring to her husband that, as Minister of Magic, she intended to set a good example. 

As a symbol of "embracing the muggle world", Hermione had gone out and bought a rather sedate, practical little car, which she announced she was going to start driving to work several days a week. 

She had come home one evening to find her husband- her very laconic and scholarly husband- looking at her car with a gleam in his eye. Two weeks later, he had bought his own automobile- a Jaguar. He eventually added an Alfa-Romeo to his collection, followed closely by the Ferrari she was currently riding in. He informed her that he was merely participating in her campaign for muggle acceptance, and that was all. Hermione had simply snorted. She knew Severus too well.

_He's the certainly the last man I'd have expected to develop a love of fast cars, she thought to herself, smothering a laugh. _

Snape glanced over at her, quirking one eyebrow. "And what are you laughing at?" he inquired. Hermione just shook her head and grinned.

Broadly. "Harry and Katia make such a wonderful couple, don't you think? And they're so happy together, especially now that Lily is born. You can just see it on their faces," said Hermione with a sentimental sigh. 

Snape glanced over at her. "I don't believe that was what you were smirking about just now," he said. "But since you mention it, yes, I suppose they are rather a good match." 

"Though I do hope that having the baby to take care of doesn't tire Katia out _too much. She's the best Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher Hogwarts has had since Professor Lupin. And she's been so busy lately, and will be kept busy in the next couple of months. She's been such a great help to me in reworking our Dark Arts control department so that we'll be able to squash problems before they happen, and never have another war with someone like Voldemort on our hands. And the three defense charms she created- they're really the most brilliant inventions of the decade. __Huge breakthroughs in magical theory!" Hermione's eyes glowed with excitement at the thought of the advancements and changes that were happening. "I'm still a bit worried as to how the Personal Defense Council is going to react to the charms, though- they're concerned about putting such powerful pieces of defensive magic in the hands of the wizarding public. I'm going to have to be really well prepared and have all my data together when I present before the Council next month. They need to understand just how important this is. Which reminds me- I've simply __got** to get over to the library next week- I need to find precedents, work out my arguments.......why are you looking at me like that?" she asked, perplexed.**_

Snape just shook his head, then leaned over and kissed her cheek.

Hermione looked at him, startled.

"Sorry," Snape said. "But I felt a distraction was in order. It's Sunday- no need to worry about your presentation until tomorrow."

Succesfully diverted- for the moment- Hermione relaxed, leaning back in her seat and closing her eyes as the wind blew her hair back from her face. "Everything's so perfect. Our life is going beautifully, Harry and Katia's baby is healthy and adorable, Oliver's become one of the best quidditch players in the world, my term as Minister hasn't had any major catastrophes, Draco and Ginny's research trip is successful……it's almost…...well, almost _too perfect, really. "_

"You make it all sound so ominous," Snape remarked as he turned the Ferrari into the well-concealed entrance road to Maffley Quidditch Pitch. "There are very few cases of death from excessive happiness, you know. Unless it's been induced by a particularly strong Cheering Charm or a Felicitas potion created by an overeager amateur."

"You are _such a comfort, Severus." Hermione muttered. "But my point was this: When have you ever known our lives to be this…..uncomplicated? In the past, we were always fighting off SOMETHING. I feel rather useless without some kind of major disaster to avert or fix."_

"Well, perhaps you're getting a much deserved rest from your former occupation of saving the world and such," Snape said with a shrug. "Don't worry about problems that aren't there. Real ones always turn up sooner or later."

He offered this bit of wisdom as he smoothly parked the Ferrari near the entrance to the quidditch pitch. Several wizards and witches stopped to gawk at the car. Snape didn't spare them a glance. 

"I suppose you're right," Hermione decided after a moment. "At least, I certainly hope so." She glanced up at the sky, which remained devoid of clouds. _Unusual weather for __England__, she thought to herself absently. _

"But of course." Snape said haughtily, extending a hand to her. "Shall we go?"

They entered the pitch, which was already more than half full of people who had come to see the Irish and the English- both World champion teams-play an exhibition match. The match was a benefit for St. Mungo's Hospital, so it had drawn out even those witches and wizards who weren't usually big quidditch fans. 

The day had a boisterous, cheerful tone. Everyone was happy- England had won a Cup just weeks before, the day was beautiful, and a plump, bespectacled old witch was selling candy of all sorts to anyone with a few knuts. In short, life was good.

Snape and Hermione walked together toward the opposite end of the pitch, where there stood a lightly muscled, brown-haired man, skimming just under six feet in height. The man was waving at them happily from his perch atop a large platform. "Hoy the Snapes!" he yelled in a Scottish burr. He clambered down the platform's ladder with a clumsy sort of grace, then began to stride across the field towards them.

Hermione waved back at him, and hissed at Snape, "Oh really, Severus, do stop being so aloof and wave, will you. Honestly, it won't harm your reputation to be seen being nice once in a while."

"One never knows," Snape said darkly. 

Hermione just laughed, and dragged him along with her. 

Upon reaching the opposite side of the field, she gave the man who was now standing on the ground a friendly hug. "Oliver! It's wonderful to see you!"

"Allo, Mione." Oliver said, smiling down at her. "You look lovely." 

"Thank you." 

"Is the professor going to be jealous if I compliment you like that?" he inquired, with an evil grin at Snape.

"Not if you compliment him as well."

"Ah." Oliver turned towards Snape. "You look lovely, too."

Snape looked down his long nose at Oliver. Oliver laughed, then came over to shake Snape's hand. 

"How goes it at Hogwarts?" he asked. "Everything running smoothly since…...since?" 

"Everything's fine. It's.…fine. Professor McGonagall has risen to the challenge of running the school as well as can be expected." There was a brief flash of emotion across Snape's face, quickly suppressed. 

"Never thought I'd see the day when Dumbledore wasn't Headmaster." Oliver said quietly. With strained cheerfulness, he changed the subject. "How's this weather, eh? Since when do we have blue skies at all, let alone for days on end?" He shook his head. "And all the while, Scotland gets pounded by heavy rains and wakes up every morning to a pitch-black sky. Back home in Aberdeen, my mum says she's seen odd colors and lights in the sky. You know there's been talk of Dark magic being involved?"

"Yes," said Snape curtly. 

Hermione looked at him in surprise. "Why wasn't I informed of this?" she asked.  "This is the first I've heard of it! I was informed that some kind of experimental charm had just gotten out of hand!"

"There is no proof yet, Hermione. There's still a chance that it was just a charm." Snape told her, but Hermione still looked upset.

"I should have been told right away. Well, I'll certainly fix _that when I get to the Ministry tomorrow," she stated angrily. "I'm supposed to be informed of things like this as soon as soon as they happen."_

Just then a loud gong sounded, breaking the tension. "Well, there's the signal for the teams to gather," Oliver said. "I'm off."

"Good luck," Hermione said.

She and Snape turned away and began walking towards the towering structure that held their seats. As they began to climb up the steps to the top, Hermione looked anxiously up at the sky for the second time that day. 

It remained surreally, brightly blue. 


	4. The Match at Maffley

A tiny, winged golden blur went swooshing past Hermione's head, zipping upwards and disappearing in the blink of an eye. Hearing a muffled cry from behind her, she turned in her seat and looked back. A pale-skinned woman had curled into a ball in her seat- an interesting feat, considering the size of quidditch tower seats. Hermione couldn't see what the woman looked like- her long, stick-straight mahogany hair hung forward, hiding her face. 

"Are you alright?" Hermione asked, concerned. "The Snitch didn't hit you, did it?" The woman straightened, showing herself to be young- probably somewhere in her mid-twenties- and attractive. She had sharp cheekbones, midnight blue eyes, high arching eyebrows, and a large, dark freckle under her left eye. "No, it didn't hit me. I was just taken by surprise, that's all," she answered with a distinct accent. 

"American?" Hermione said, more stating the obvious than asking a question. 

The woman grinned. "Yes. Quidditch isn't nearly as popular at home as it is here. I've never seen it played this _fast bef…….WATCH OUT!" she cried, curling into a ball once more as a Bludger skimmed over her head.   
  
Hermione ducked slightly, and Snape, who had previously been watching the game, oblivious to his wife's near miss with the snitch and subsequent conversation with the American, turned and looked at her. "Can't understand why that Bludger came so close," he muttered. "They aren't supposed to come near non-players. And I thought these were spell-protected towers." _

"Is that how you avoid having a lot of injured bystanders?" the American asked. 

Hermione answered for him. "Well, normally, a Bludger won't attack the crowd. It's just not in its nature. The only time I've ever seen them do that is when they were hexed." 

The American looked oddly guilty. "Oh. Well, this is the first actual Quidditch match I've been to, so I guess I wouldn't really know." 

Hermione stared at her. _Is it just me, or did she sound rather apologetic? Her curiosity piqued, she leaned further over her seat back, extending her hand. "I'm Hermione Snape, by the way. And this is my husband, Severeus." Snape nodded shortly. _

The woman's eyes widened. "The Minister of Magic?" she said incredulously. "Wow. It's great to meet you." She grasped Hermione's extended hand and shook it. "I'm Rachel Winde. From Massachusetts." 

"Pleasure," Hermione stated. "And why are you visiting England?"

Rachel's smile faded slightly. "Family." 

Hermione drew back a bit, confused. About to ask what she had done to upset Rachel, she was distracted by a familiar figure. She watched in admiration as Oliver pivoted swiftly and deflected the Quaffle that had been hurtling towards the posts back out towards the oncoming players. The crowd, who for a second had been absolutely sure this would be a goal for Ireland, erupted into noise- cheers from the English supporters, moans from the Irish contingent. 

"So fast I couldn't make him out at all," Snape murmured. 

"He's amazing," said Hermione proudly. 

"Who is he?" Rachel inquired. 

"That's Oliver Wood, the English team Keeper. He captained the team to World Cup glory only weeks ago." 

"He's very quick. He seems to be very good." Rachel noted, eyes on Oliver

"Yes, he's excellent." 

Oliver was now flying back and forth in front of the goal posts while the other players fought a battle for Quaffle possession high above him. 

Hermione looked up to watch him, only to see another Bludger zooming straight towards her. Only inches away from her face, it flew upwards, then dove straight at Rachel. This time, Rachel lifted a hand almost imperiously; a cool breeze washed over Hermione and Snape. The Bludger veered away and shot back towards the players. 

Rachel heaved a relieved sigh, then caught Hermione's puzzled look. "That was a close one," she said lightly. Hermione nodded slowly and turned around to watch the game. 

She watched as Brauck, the English Seeker, made a sudden dive towards the ground. "Looks like he's spotted the snitch," Snape remarked. Hermione leaned forward excitedly. Just when it seemed he would crash into the ground, Brauck pulled out of the dive and swooped upward, shaking his fist. The crowd erupted into cheers and groans, until they realized that the gesture was one of frustration, rather than of victory. The tiny ball had escaped capture. 

The Irish Chasers had possession of the ball. The Chaser on the right, a short, stocky woman, passed the ball towards her teammate, a lanky redheaded man. Just as the man was reaching out to the side to grab the ball, a female English Chaser rose up from beneath him till she was just beneath his outstretched arm, so it looked as though his arm was draped over her shoulders. "Bit fresh, aren't we?" she asked perkily. She flashed a grin right into the Irishman's surprised face, grabbing the ball just half an inch from his fingertips. She peeled away form him, and zoomed towards the opposite end of the pitch, where the English goalposts waited. The third Irish Chaser flew at an angle, trying to intercept her. She lobbed the Quaffle over his head, where it was neatly caught by one of her teammates. He in turn passed it to the third English Chaser, who hurled the Quaffle through the goalposts, just barely skimming it over the Irish Keeper's shoulder. The crowd screamed in delight. 

On the opposite side of the field, Oliver's face was split by a huge grin.

There was a sudden, collective gasp. Brauck, who had been flying slowly around on the north side of the field, made a sudden pivot to the right and flew swiftly forward, the Irish Seeker on his tail. They both swerved around the goalpost, then headed towards the center of the field. By now everyone had spotted the Snitch, flying through the air a few feet before Brauck's outstretched hand. The Irish Seeker, Fergan, pulled closer and closer to Brauck, 'til they were nearly neck and neck. Chaos swept through the stands as hundreds of screaming fans rose to their feet. Oliver was yelling encouragement at the top of his lungs. 

The Seekers drew nearer and nearer to the Snitch. Which suddenly disappeared, causing everyone to quiet in shock. Then, suddenly, it appeared that Brauck was going to be sick. Until he spit up…the Snitch! He stared at it in shock for a few moments, then a huge grin split his face. Raising his hand in the air, he held up the Snitch for everyone to see. The noise from the crowd built quickly to a roar as everyone jumped to their feet, tossing their hats in the air in jubilation.

"Bloody Hell, he's pulled a _Potter!" a red-faced fat man in front of Hermione bellowed. Hermione laughed in pure joy as other members of the crowd also started cheering. "A Potter! A Potter! He's pulled a Potter!" Brauck made a victory lap. _

Oliver flew giddy loop-di-loops on his broom- only to stop in shock. As two fat raindrops fell out of the clear sky to hit him squarely on the face.  


	5. A Winde from the North

Reaching up to his face, Oliver wiped away the water droplets, staring up at the clear blue sky with a look of bewilderment. With a puzzled shrug, he flew towards the knot of his teammates to pass around hugs and compliments. _Just some odd freak of nature, he thought to himself, glancing down at his damp fingertips._

Flying down and alighting on the ground, he trudged towards the team quarters to change out of his Quidditch robes and hunt down something cold to drink. 

Passing by a small alcove, he overheard a female voice declaring crossly, "Really, Sean, it was only a joke. Don't get such a stick up your arse over it." 

"It was bloody embarrassing, is what it was," a man's voice cut in fiercely, "And I don't appreciate it, Miranda. I surely don't." 

Oliver stepped towards the couple. "Now, you two, what's all this? Fraternizing with the enemy?" It was a very common joke- the couple staring angrily back at him were Miranda Masckins, the English Chaser who had grabbed the Quaffle right out from under an Irish player's outstretched hand, and the man, Sean Finnigan, was that selfsame Irishman. They were an odd couple, quite happy constantly bickering. _One can never tell about people, Oliver thought to himself, amused. "Miri, aren't you supposed to be getting changed? We all have to Apparate into town for the St. Mungo's charity ball." _

"Not enough that they had a Quidditch game fundraiser that we played in, oh noooo," Miri grumbled. "We have to attend the BALL as well." She stalked off towards the tentlike building bearing the English flag, muttering and swearing under her breath. 

Oliver turned back towards Sean "I swear, Finnigan, I don't know how you put up with Miri's temper- Hell, I'VE been friends with her forever, and I don't know how_ I put up with it." _

"Sometimes I wonder about that meself," mumbled the Irishman. "She's not the best thing for my sanity, but……" He gave a little sigh. "You Brits played well today." 

"Thank you." 

Sean nodded and turned around, heading for his own team's quarters. "See you at the ball, Finnigan!" Oliver yelled. Sean flapped a hand at him without turning around. Oliver shook his head. _I'll expect an invitation to their wedding one of these days, if those two don't kill each other first. Still shaking his head, he strode off. Three more water droplets settled unnoticed into his thick hair._

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

Walking into the cozy little hotel room she currently called home, Rachel plopped down into a peach-colored armchair. Sinking back into the seat, she stared at the ceiling. Her eyes drifted closed in a pleasant combination of exhaustion and happiness. The game had been great fun to watch- she'd been thrilled by the pace and the skill of the players. And she'd gotten to meet Minister Snape, whom she had long admired and looked up to. There weren't many witches who could do what Hermione Snape had- her leadership and logical thinking had brought the wizarding world through the aftermath of Voldemort's final bid for power, and the partial destruction of its finest magic school. 

But good day or no, she wasn't any closer to finding Jack. Not one step, not one tiny little bit of insignificant information closer. All the gods damn it. She glowered at the painting of a mermaid that graced the wall opposite her. The mermaid winked and smiled at her. She looked just like Jack's young wife. Her expression turned darker. A huge wave swelled up out of the sea surrounding the mermaid's rock. She vanished into the swirling water with a high squeak of dismay. 

Rachel sighed and looked away. _Might as well try to look on the bright side, she thought to herself ruefully. __At least the weather's been beautiful. Last time I was here, I was slogging through knee-deep mud._

Sitting up in a sudden burst of energy, she crossed the hardwood floor to the closet. _Good thing I travel prepared, she thought with a little laugh. __Who'd have thought I'd be attending a BALL? She stilled as she thought of St. Mungo's, the magical hospital that both today's Quidditch match and the evening's ball were raising funds for. __Only appropriate that I attend, she thought__. I do, after all, have three relatives in permanent residence in the dratted place. _

Opening the closet doors, she rummaged around until she located the simple satin dress she had packed. Upon finding it, she unhooked it from the hanger and pulled it out. With a graceful flick of the wrist, a small, moist breeze swept lightly down the dress, leaving it completely free of wrinkles. She glanced over it with satisfaction. _Can't imagine having to constantly swish a wand about and remember a bunch of Latin, she thought. __I'd hate to have to do all that in order to use my magic._

Slipping her dress on over her head, she went into the bathroom, fastening the tiny pearl buttons up the front as she walked. Flicking on the over head light, she touched up her lipstick, powdered her nose, and stared at herself in the mirror. She took a deep breath. Closed her eyes. Opened them again. 

The tears in them were now gone. Turning away swiftly, she strode quickly down the stairs, climbed into her rental car, and zipped off down the lane. Heavy dew fell on the grass and a small patch of wilting buttercups as she passed, where it shone under the light of the just-rising moon.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *    

Harry turned away from the window. "Glad to be home again, sweetheart?" he inquired of his wife, who was seated in a beautiful old walnut rocking chair, Lilia cradled in her arms. 

"You have no idea." She smiled, in the smug way that only new mothers can get away with. "It's wonderful to out of that dull hospital room and back in familiar surroundings." She glanced down at her tiny daughter, who was drinking from her mother's breast as though she the world were about to end. Small bright eyes stared seriously back up into Katia's. 

"Lili seems to have no objection to her home." Harry walked over to perch on the arm of the rocker beside his wife. "Are you sure you don't want me to stay?" he asked. 

"No, you should go. You'll be expected to put in an appearance- and you _did promise you would go." _

"I promised I would go with _you," Harry protested. "I'd rather stay home." Katia fixed him with a stern look. "Harry. James. Potter. YOU are going to be late. You promised you would go be the official Potter family representative. All those people are going to want to hear about Lili, so go, talk, enjoy yourself, brag- and come home as soon as you can." She reached up with her free hand and brought his face down to hers. Kissing him lightly, she murmured, "And the sooner you leave, the sooner you can come back." Harry laughed, and went to hunt down his dress robes. _

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

Hermione climbed into the Alfa Romeo, where Snape was waiting for her in the driver's seat. He turned and looked at her. "You look beautiful, Hermione." he stated quietly. She blushed slightly. They had been married for nearly seven years, together for two years before that, but she still wasn't used to his compliments. She smiled, and leaned back in her seat. "Thank you," she murmured, reaching over to clasp his hand as they pulled out into the quiet street. 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

Oliver made his way into the crowded ballroom, pulling slightly at his collar. He _hated dress robes. Loathed them. No, too weak a word. He DESPISED them. Despised them with the passion of a thousand burning suns. Grinning at his own melodrama, he scanned the room, until he spotted Harry. He waved and started towards him. Dodging waitpeople, house elves, flower urns, a half-naked statue that winked and grinned suggestively, and what seemed like thousands of smiling witches, Oliver finally reached his friend. _

"Well, if it isn't the new father!" he exclaimed, slapping Harry on the back. "How's Katia and the little one?"

"They're both just fine. Katia got to come home this afternoon. The doctors said everything seems fine." 

"Happy?"

Harry's face simply lit up with the smile of a man who has everything. 

Oliver nodded in complete understanding. "It's the most amazing and terrifying feeling in the world, isn't it?" he said quietly. 

"Yes."

"That's how I remember it."

************************************************************************

Attracting a few eyes with her fashionably late entrance, Rachel strolled into the gigantic ballroom, her dress swirling around her like a glass of cool burgundy wine. Her car had gotten a flat tire on the way to the party, and she'd had to stop and change it. Taking a quick glance down at her spotless dress, Rachel smiled. There were definite advantages to being a Deiad. 

Eyes roving, absorbing the sights and sounds, she wove her way in and out of the crowd towards the groaning buffet table (always, in her opinion, the first stop at any party).

Paying attention to everything but where her feet were taking her, she never saw the tall, bulky man in her path until she collided solidly with his back, knocking him forward.. She reached out a hand, intending to help steady him, only to have it slapped away. The man, his face a mask of utter fury, glared down at her. "You spilled my drink," he muttered softly. "You spilled it on my jacket."

He wavered slightly back in forth, as though vibrating with anger. Upon study of his red face, Rachel quickly realized that his swaying had nothing so much to do with anger and everything to do with the fact that he was piss-faced drunk.

"I'm _so sorry, sir. I wasn't paying any attention at all- it was completely my fault. Can I get you a tissue, some water, help you clean up?" _

The man turned an even deeper shade of red, capillaries popping out on his puffy face. Pointing a wavering finger at her, he bellowed, "You better learn not to go bumping into people, you clumsy bitch." Moving forward remarkably quickly for such a fat man, he gave Rachel a hard shove, sending her stumbling a full five steps backward before she caught herself.

A vaguely familiar man with brown hair suddenly stepped in front of her. 

"Now, Bernswelly," he admonished in a musical Scots burr, "You really ought to show the lady a bit more respect. 'Twas a perfectly innocent accident."

Gritting her teeth, Rachel stepped in front of her would-be white knight . "Thanks, but I can handle this." Looking the drunkard dead in the bloodshot eye, she declared, "Sir, I am more than happy to assist you in cleaning up. However. If you insist on being a rude pig, then you may take your smelly head and soak it in whatever crap you've been drinking." 

She calmly moved around the now tomato-hued man, and continued on her way towards the high-heaped table of food as if nothing had happened. The drunk gave an inarticulate yell of rage, and started towards her- only to slip on an unnoticed puddle of water. He toppled onto his back with a loud thud, and lay there waving his arms and legs about feebly like a very large, very tipsy overgrown beetle. Still heading foodward, Rachel indulged in a small, secretive smile. 

************************************************************************

"Now _there's a woman who can handle herself," Oliver declared admiringly, watching the tall brunette saunter away. "Think I should apologize for misplaced chivalry?"_

"Go ahead," Harry said with a grin. "I'm going to go harass Snape a bit- he and 'Mione just walked in." He tilted his head in the direction of the main doors. 

Oliver nodded and began maneuvering his way into and around the wad of humanity currently separating him from the self-possessed woman who had put that idiot Bernswelly so firmly in his place. 

Upon reaching her, he tapped her on the shoulder, executing a rather exaggerated bow when she turned around. "Just wanted to apologize for interrupting back there. Didn't realize I wasn't needed."

Rachel studied him, her eyes making a frank sweep from the top of his head to the toes of his boots. Oliver waited patiently for her gaze to meander back up to his face.

"You're Oliver Wood, aren't you?"

Oliver smiled. "Yes. Have we met?"

"No, but I was at the match at Maffley this afternoon. You played excellently."

"Thank you. Might I ask what _your name is?"_

"Rachel. Rachel Winde."

"And are you here on vacation, Mrs. Winde?"

"Miss. And no, I'm here…..tying up some family business."

"And what brought you out to Maffley?"

"Oh, I come from a family of rabid Quidditch fans. Going to the match today was a bit of an edict from my father- 'Rachel, my dear girl, if ever you are in England and don't get yourself a professional Quidditch game, I shall disown you immediately.' So here I am. It was a fantastic game."

"I'm glad you enjoyed it. Personally, I had a bit of an edict to _play Quidditch. My father was a Beater for the Chudley Cannons, back in the old days when they still won. Well now, this seems to tie up the introductions satisfactorily. Would you like to dance?"_

With a laugh, Rachel accepted his outstretched hand. Oliver grinned down at her as he whirled her out onto the dance floor.

Some things are simply meant to happen.

********************************************************************

"Oliver seems to have found himself a new companion," Harry remarked with a grin, raising an eyebrow in the direction of Oliver and the young woman he was dancing with. The two appeared to be completely wrapped up in their conversation, oblivious to the rest of the room. 

"It's never been much of a hardship for him," Hermione commented dryly.

"Yes, but-"

Harry's reply was cut off as a loud roar filled the ballroom. Everyone stopped dancing as an enormous gust of wind howled and ripped its way through from the north terrace doors, forcing people to their knees, tearing the velvet hangings from the walls, and knocking over the large, heavy flower urns. Hats ended up stuck in chandeliers, and drinks sloshed onto the floor. 

The noise and violence seemed to go on forever.

In the ensuing deathly quiet, only Rachel was left standing. She stood still and straight near the center of the wreckage, gazing out towards the north sky, her gown soaking wet and dripping onto the floor. A look of total shock crept over her white face. The room remained in its frozen tableau, until Rachel suddenly and abruptly crumpled to the floor.


End file.
